The other morning, the day after I sent in my 3rd draft, I woke up in the morning and followed the usual morning routine: brought the book I was currently reading down to the kitchen, rinsed berries to put on top of cereal, etc. So, Jim and I ate breakfast, and at a certain point Jim left the table and got on with the day. But I stayed where I was and read. . . and read. . . and read. I made coffee, sat back down, kept reading. All morning. Until the book was finished. (It was The Sugar Queen, a delightful piece of romantic magical-realism from North Carolina, recommended by Stephanie.)
It was so lovely to just loll and read. Decadent. Lovely.
One evening a month or two ago, I was sitting on the sofa with my laptop, writing, when the power went out in our neighborhood -- and it didn't come back on. This hasn't happened before, and at first I was annoyed, but then. . . it turned out to be wonderful. I lit all the candles in the living room (including the gorgeous Anthropologie candelabra Alexandra is always trying to steal), which is something I almost never do (laziness?) and I discovered that the world is different by candlelight. Soft and wonderful. I almost felt like I stepped into a new room in my brain -- the next few hours of writing were so pleasant. It's funny to think now that I haven't had any more candle-lit evenings since then, just for fun. I don't know why not. Maybe I will plan to *begin* my new project that way, when it's time to get down to it: candles + new book to write. Nice! Like a ritual.
Have you had any lovely reading or writing interludes lately?